Page 23 of Ash Storm

The other women didn’t hesitate, their movements matter-of-fact, as if any urge to fight back had been beaten out of them long before.

“Do as they say,” her neighbor whispered.

Reka looked beside her. Half of the women were completely naked already, standing with their backs very straight, eyes forward, hands by their sides. Like soldiers. Several were still hopping on one foot then another as they attempted to follow directions.

She and Chloe were the only ones who hadn’t yet moved.

“Take them off, Chloe,” she said. She pulled her own sweater and T-shirt over her head in one go, then pulled her leggings down. She didn’t have to take off her shoes, since she was already barefoot. When she’d woken up in the first cell, her shoes had been nowhere to be found.

Her clothes—even her bra—felt loose.

You’ve lost a lot of weight.

She looked over at Chloe, whose hip bones and ribs jutted out almost painfully.

She willed herself to take off her bra and her panties and stood still, barely able to stop herself from placing her hands in front of her. Reka had always been proud of her strong, athletic body. She’d never been shy about getting changed in front of others, or naked with her partners. But today, for the first time, her forced nakedness made her feel vulnerable.

Alarms rang in her head.

It’s what they want.

They want you to feel weak.

Somehow, just acknowledging it gave her back some of her strength. She straightened her spine and pulled her shoulders back.

The two men leered at them. Junior even licked his lips a couple of times, as if anticipating a taste.

“Stand still,” the first man said, and it seemed to Reka that he was speaking directly to her. “If anyone moves, there will be no dinner for anyone tonight.”

His words drew no reaction from the women, but Reka could feel the tension in the room ratchet up a notch. She pressed her shoulder harder against Chloe, willing her to stay in place.

The cold water hit her before she had a chance to say anything. Junior wielded the high-pressure hose like a pro, striking each of the women in turn. He kept things interesting by hitting up and down the line randomly. When it reached her, the water slammed painfully against her breasts. Reka clamped her lips closed. Several women cried out. Apparently, that was allowed. But nobody moved an inch.

The two old women walked through the line, a bar of soap in each hand, soaping the women up quickly. Reka felt the woman’s hands against her breasts, her belly, on the underside of her arms, even between her legs.

By the time she found her voice to complain, the woman had moved on to do the same to Chloe, and then on to the next woman.

“Now turn around,” Junior said. The cold water hit her back and buttocks next, dripping down her legs to pool at her feet.

One of the women moved back down the line, using a single towel to dry off all sixteen women. By the time Reka’s turn came, the towel was wet and rough, and chafed at her skin. Still, Reka forced herself to stay still.

From beyond the bars of the cell, Junior touched himself lasciviously through his pants. Reka looked quickly away.

“He is not allowed to touch us,” her gray-eyed friend said quietly, enunciating her words very carefully.

Okay. So Junior had to stay outside the cell.

That was good.

The women then moved down the line again with a small bottle of oil.

The oil smelled of something sweet and flowery—it reminded Reka vaguely of the products they’d used at the hammam. It felt like that had happened years ago.

The old women dripped oil on each captive in turn. It went all over Reka, from her hair, all the way down her body.

“Rub,” the woman instructed.

Under the woman’s careful perusal, Reka rubbed the oil in, not wanting to be touched again by the woman. By the time she was done, she was slippery like an animal about to be roasted on a spit.